


Aftermath of a Dragon

by DualWieldingCousland (DualWieldingMama)



Series: The Other Regan [13]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 15:07:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3733420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DualWieldingMama/pseuds/DualWieldingCousland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regan's party is banged up after fighting a dragon; Cullen is worried thanks to a rather unhelpful letter from the camp.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath of a Dragon

“Maker’s breath, woman,” Varric watched the injured rogue struggle to hold onto her mount. “Why didn’t you just ride with someone? You’ve made your injuries ten times worse by trying to stay upright in that saddle.”

Regan waved her uninjured hand halfheartedly, then quickly grabbed the saddle again to keep from falling off. She hadn’t intended on getting this banged up; then again, she hadn’t planned on fighting a dragon, either. They had sort of … stumbled across the beast while exploring the Hinterlands. And unfortunately, by the time they realized it was there, it was between them and their only way out. “You all are injured too. Why make it worse for someone by making them keep track of me, too?”

“We’re here,” Dorian interrupted, shaking his head as they rode their mounts through the gate at Skyhold. “Help her down, Bull. I’m not sure she’d be able to find the ground with anything but her face at this point.” This was one of those times he wished he’d studied more healing magic. But his skills tended to drift more toward other areas. “The healer at the camp was adequate, but I know I’d feel better if someone else took a look at her.”

The Iron Bull swiftly dismounted, handing the reigns of his nug to Varric, who was sharing Smoke with Dorian. He easily reached Thranduil and lifted her off, hiding a smirk as she half-heartedly fought his efforts. “Come on, boss,” he laughed, resting her on one shoulder. “Just hang onto the horn. We’ll get the horses stabled, then grab a drink to celebrate.”

“She really should see the healer,” Varric pointed out as he managed to awkwardly slide off the horse. He wasn’t fond of sharing a saddle, but his mount had been commandeered to help tow the remains of the dragon back. “We all should, just to be safe.” He could remember the few dragons he had faced with Hawke back in Kirkwall, and none of them had been as tough as that dragon. They had been lucky.

“Can you people please stop talking about me like I’m not here,” Regan grumbled, clinging to the massive horn with her good arm. If Bull turned his head too quickly, she’d be thrown off easily. “I’m fine, Varric, though I appreciate the concern. The camp healer did his job well.” She gingerly raised her right arm, wincing as the sore muscles screamed in protest. The break in her forearm had been slight, and the healer set it well. “We’ll go see if Vivienne has a healer handy, after we celebrate. It’s not every day you get to kill a dragon, after all.”

Bull grinned as the group walked the mounts to the stable and handed them off. “You got that right.” He’d taken more damage than their leader, but he was built for it; she wasn’t. But she had been fearless when they faced the dragon, despite being afraid. She was the reason to celebrate.

There was already a crowd gathering around the dragon’s carcass. Some were poking at it with sticks. Others were talking in hushed whispers, already wondering what story Varric would tell about how it happened. Dorian directed some of the guards to watch over their prize; they didn’t want anyone taking bits of it without the Inquisitor’s permission. Some parts of the dragon would fetch a high price, and it was only fair those who brought it down get their share first.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Cullen had been pacing since he’d received word from the camp. She had encountered a dragon! Not only had she encountered one and survived, she had managed to kill it! But she’d been injured. The healer at the camp had done his best, but he was concerned about lasting, hidden damage. As soon as the group had all been tended to and were resting, he had sent a message to his commander. He hadn’t known how Cullen felt; he was just following protocol. 

He had asked to be notified as soon as she returned. He’d been clever enough, he thought, to make it sound as if he needed her for Inquisition matters, rather than anything personal. But when the messenger finally opened his door to report her arrival, he practically pushed past the man with barely a thank you, needing to see how she fared. Those private moments they had shared, getting to know one another, had set his mind, and heart, racing, and he couldn’t bear the thought of her hurt. He needed to see that she was alright.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

“You should have seen your face when that thing came over the trees,” Bull laughed, raising his mug to Dorian. “I thought you were going to faint.” 

The mage frowned, draping one arm over the back of his chair. “I did no such thing.” He took a sip from his wineglass and smiled calmly. “I’m from Tevinter, my dear Bull. Dragons don’t scare us; they’re scared of us. Do you know how many spells the magisters have that call for the blood of a dragon?”

“And just how many dragons have the Tevinters managed to bring down lately?” Varric teased, shaking his head. “Admit it. You were as scared as the rest of us.” He knew he had been frightened. You’d have to be an idiot, or maybe just Qunari, to not be scared about facing a dragon. “Pity we didn’t have the Seeker with us. Her family’s famous for dragon-slaying.”

“Wait. Cassandra’s one of those Pentaghasts?” Regan leaned forward, wincing as she put weight on her injured right arm. “Why didn’t I make that connection before?” She took a long drink from her mug, closing her eyes as the Ferelden ale slid down her throat. Maybe if she drank enough of it, she wouldn’t hurt so much. She looked over at her Qunari companion and grinned. “What about you, Bull? You just ran straight at that thing like it was nothing!”

The mercenary captain just laughed and drained his mug before slamming it down on the table. “Another round, barkeep!” he called out happily. “I like a challenge,” he replied, confidently. He watched as the door flew open and a shadow blocked the light. “Seems like you do as well, boss. Don’t know too many people who’d willingly fight a dragon.”

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Maker’s breath; why hadn’t he waited until the messenger had at least told him where she was? The poor man had barely gotten out ‘She has returned’ before he’d bolted from his office in search of her. He’d practically run to the stables, only to find she wasn’t there. Then he checked her room; the camp had said she was injured, so he thought maybe she would be resting. But no, she wasn’t there either. He checked the war room, the under-forge, the library … anywhere he could think she might be. But she wasn’t in any of those places. Finally, he headed toward the pub; it was the last logical place. 

And there she was. Her back was to the door, so she didn’t see him arrive. It took all his strength not to simply run to her and wrap his arms around her. She was leaning on Dorian, her right arm held gingerly against her side. He could hear her soft laughter at something the Qunari had said and felt a pang of jealousy as he watched Dorian reach around to gingerly hug her to him. Taking a deep breath to calm his racing pulse, he strode over to the table and did his best to keep his voice level. “Inquisitor, are you alright? The Hinterlands camp sent word you were injured?”

“Cullen?” Regan was surprised to see her military commander, though she shouldn’t have been. He’d never been far from her thoughts. But the pain, healing herbs taken at the camp, and the recently consumed alcohol had an effect on her thought processes. “Is anyone else hearing Cullen, or am I going insane?” Maybe she was hearing things, thanks to … everything.

“Turn around, my dear,” Dorian laughed, turning her chair for her. He found it amusing, the way the commander behaved around her. He found it amusing the way she behaved around the commander too; it was all rather cute, if you didn’t mind the over-sweetness of it all. “The love of your life is right here.”

Both parties flushed a deep crimson, though Regan had the handy excuse of drinking. Cullen started stammering, trying to figure out how to deflect the sudden attention. Regan, perhaps unknowingly, came to his rescue. “I’m so glad you’re here, Cullen,” she whispered, smiling warmly. She reached out and rested her good hand on his arm.

“You are?” he asked, caught off guard. He couldn’t help but grin as he felt the weight of her hand resting on his arm. How he wanted to pull her to her feet and hold her. But he didn’t know how severe her injuries were; nor did he know quite how much she’d had to drink. She seemed sober enough, but as he’d never actually seen her drink before, he had no idea of her tolerance.

“We all are, Curly,” Varric interrupted. “The Inquisitor needs to get some rest, according to the healers. But she won’t listen to us.” He gestured at the other members of the table, shrugging slightly. “Think you can convince her to lie down for a bit? Maybe escort her to her chambers, since she can’t walk a straight line right now?”

Cullen looked around nervously as the others nodded their agreement. They were all certain he wouldn’t do anything with her in her current state, and she did need to rest. “Alright,” he finally agreed, moving to guide the girl into a standing position. When it appeared she wouldn’t be able to make the trip on her own feet, he gingerly scooped her up, cradling the girl against his chest. It didn’t help matters when she closed her eyes and sighed softly, snuggling up against him. He stifled a groan and made his way out of the tavern, not noticing the sly smile on Dorian’s face, or the content look on her face as he carried her away.


End file.
